Black & White
by SeriousScribble
Summary: The Ministry of Magic has been the stage for schemes and plots for centuries. The tale of how Lucius Malfoy was acquitted with applause and Bartemius Crouch lost all chances to become Minister for Magic is Narcissa's contribution … and it always ends in Courtroom Ten. – Oneshot in three acts, written for DLP's 2011 Politics Contest.
**Black & White
**A political chamber play

 **A/N:  
** Found this while I was tidying up. Nothing spectacular, but perhaps there are some who will enjoy it. The first part of the courtroom dialogues are taken from _Harry Potter & The Goblet Of Fire_ and, like the rest of HP, aren't mine.

* * *

 **Act 1: Grey**

 **Scene 1: Crawford's Madness**

A long, drawn-out scream sounded through the uppermost level of the Ministry. It was a sound to pierce marrow and bone, and the Aurors standing guard in front of the Minister's office looked at one another uneasily. One even glanced down the corridor, towards the corner, but then everything was silent again.

Suddenly, the door to the office of the Senior Undersecretary was ripped open and Henry Crawford, by profession owner of the office, stumbled out; steps uneven, erratic, but still near silent. The sound of his feet was swallowed by the thick carpet that cushioned the hallways of the floor belonging to the Minister.

He looked terrible. In the dim, subdued lightning of the corridor that told of a quiet, efficient working atmosphere, his hair shone with sweat, plastered onto this head, in wild disarray. His eyes were wide and unfocused, and as he staggered ahead, brandishing his wand, you could see that a finger on his right hand was missing; the ring finger that still tried to clench around the wand with the rest of his fingers was nothing more than a bloody stump.

Crawford opened his mouth, and again, the scream sounded down the corridor. This time, one of the Aurors from the security detail in front of the Minister's door came running to find the source.

Even though He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had vanished a month ago, the situation was still tense, and the guards of the Minister always alert. More than once, rampant Death Eaters, not willing to believe that their master was gone, had appeared without warning and attacked anything that moved. The Minister herself had been target of those attacks twice, and Millicent Bagnold wasn't the youngest witch anymore. Were it not for the work that needed to be done and bore no delay like a change in office with its campaigning contenders would inevitably bring, she would have retired a year ago. But that wasn't an option; the night of the Dark Lord's downfall alone had brought more large-scale breaches of the International Wizarding Statute of Secrecy than anyone cared to count. At least there slowly seemed some land in sight, although it had taken a Wizengamot that was in session every day long to get to this point.

Auror Johnson had finally caught sight of Crawford, and rushed towards him, as he recognised his tall form.

"Mr. Undersecretary! Sir, what's wrong?"

He received no answer. Instead, a bright blue light sizzled out of Crawford's wand, hitting the Auror in the chest and throwing him ten feet back down the corridor. Johnson screamed, clutching at his chest, limbs jerking and twitching uncontrollably, while Crawford paid him no mind at all, and stumbled on, past him towards the door to the Minister's office beyond the corner at the end of the corridor.

"What –"

Johnson's screams fill the corridor, and the door of the Minister's office was ripped open, as Millicent Bagnold poked her grey-haired head out of her rooms.

"Would it be entirely unreasonable to ask for a _little_ more silen-"

She didn't manage to finish the sentence as spells impacted the doorframe, the walls and the ceiling. The Aurors didn't waste any more time. One of them, standing just next to the Minister, pushed two of the guards into the room and slammed shut the door. Then he cast a shield that spanned across the corridor, and started to work on the door.

"Dawlish," he bellowed to the sole Auror remaining at his side. "Slow him down. I need more time to secure the door. And you call for reinforcement!"

The last was shouted through the door. The shield in the hallway buckled and strained under what appeared like a barrage of random spells, making a collapse imminent. Dawlish waited until it went down with a magical fizzle, then returned fire, protecting himself and the Auror working on the door as well as possible. Spells hit the staggering Undersecretary, who looked completely out of it; he tumbled down and crawled ahead, coming closer and closer.

"He won't stop!" Dawlish's voice cracked, wild with fear. "Sir, he's _not stopping_!"

He cast a strong cutting curse that hit Crawford. A long gash opened across his head, gushing red seeping through his hair immediately, and still, he moved on. He pulled himself up again, hissing maliciously, and started firing again.

Spells left his wand, hitting everything from the walls to the ceiling and the door. The Auror securing the door took one look over his shoulder and stopped.

"Lock the office," he roared. "He doesn't get in, damnit, do you hear me?"

The door glowed in various colours as the Aurors on the other side resumed his task. A blasting hex nearly took of his head, hitting the door. The next curse out of Crawford's wand hit the ceiling. The spellfire lit up the corridor, as shouts sounded down its length. Moody stomped along almost as quickly as the rest of the additional Aurors, arriving just in time to see the door getting blasted of the hinges and the Auror flying backwards.

"Do something!" Dawlish shouted. He cast a shield, substituting the torn-away door. "He won't stop!"

Another spell ripped away the wall, doubling the size of the entrance. Dawlish was cowering next to the remaining doorpost.

"Crouch's order is still active! Goddamn, what are you waiting for? Kill him!"

Crawford was nearly upon him, even if he didn't seem to realise that. He hesitated, shaking his head, almost as if confused. Then he blasted a hole into the ceiling. Dawlish looked desperate. He raised his wand, aiming squarely at Crawford's chest, who suddenly stopped.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green light rushed to meet him, and finally, the Undersecretary fell down and stopped moving. The sleeve on his robes was pushed back by the movement. The black skull-tattoo on his forearm was glowing in an unholy light, slowly fading away.

 **Scene 2: Dead Men Don't Talk**

"What do we have?"

Moody was sitting in front of his desk in the Head Auror office, facing Dawlish, who had the report on Crawford's attack earlier in the day. The door to the rest of the Auror Office was closed; keeping out the hubbub from the open area. The large picture window showing a green meadow was supposed to be calming. Moody didn't feel very calm right now.

"He was a Death Eater. But the specialists say there was a load of spells on him. It's quite possible this wasn't his doing."

"Meaning?"

"Compulsion charms, the Imperius Curse, they can't tell. It's a mess. The only thing they say they do know is that it's Dark Magic, and so it's a likely that it was the Dark Lord's doing, and that Crawford was a perfectly upstanding wizard before. Oh, and the Healer says it's entirely possible that the sudden disappearance of You-Know-Who messed with his mind, if there were spells targeting that. Crawford did look a bit peaky this last month. Was a little erratic too."

Moody cursed.

"So whatever that bastard forced onto his mind scrambled it when he vanished, and now it simply broke. Just great. Why did no one notice that before today?"

Dawlish shrugged.

"Crawford always was the quiet type, I guess. No one thought anything of it."

"And he isn't around to ask anymore. Because _someone_ killed him."

Dawlish looked at him surprised.

"You were there for the last part, sir. You saw what he did. It was necessary."

"Was it? Dead men don't talk. The problem with using the Killing Curse as any sort of solution, Dawlish, is that it's final. No do over. No second chance. Just gone."

"Some people don't deserve a second chance, sir," Dawlish said emphatically.

Moody glared at him.

"Yes, and I was talking about _you_ , not about Crawford. What if this was a mistake? What if he had valuable information? What if he really was influenced by some curse? What then? But I suppose you have to live with that, not me."

"Do you really think that, sir?" Dawlish's tone was sceptical. "He –"

"Staggered around like a drunken goblin? Fired spells at the walls, the ceiling, whatever, for no discernable reason? Doesn't seem to me like he planned an attack. And it's far too similar to what happened at Malfoy's home this morning, when we brought Lucius Malfoy in. He was attacking his own wife. I don't like this at all. Something isn't right here."

Moody leafed through the thick folder that contained everything they had on Lucius Malfoy, lots of reports, sightings, hunches, and suspected crimes. Nowhere in it did it say that Malfoy had behaved oddly. He stopped searching, as he knew it by heart, and slammed it down, with a disgusted sigh.

"This is the work of years, Dawlish. _Years_. And it took me this entire last month to sort through it, and get a handle on this slippery bastard. I'm not having something fucking up my case. Not this case. Do we have the final go-ahead for Malfoy?"

"Yes, sir. Both Karkaroff and M wife will testify against him. Apparently, she really took getting attacked badly. She wants him away from her. Together with your evidence, he's got no chance. The verdict on his case is scheduled in three hours, directly after Karkaroff's hearing."

"Karkaroff, that little rat. I still say Barty's deal stinks. Took me six months of tracking and searching, and now he's going to get let him out. Did you brief him already, about the details of Crawford's rampage?"

Dawlish hesitated.

"I didn't get the chance to talk to him yet, sir. I only spoke with secretary Higgins. Currently, he has Mrs. Malfoy in his office. Before that, he was in various meetings with other Departments; and in a minute he will go down into the courtrooms. The session is beginning. I fear he doesn't even know about the attack yet."

Moody's fingers drummed on the wooden desk.

"Perhaps that's just as well. Keep this mess separated from the Malfoy case. I want nothing disturbing it. If he asks, tell him to talk with me tonight. Malfoy will be convicted and in prison by then. And Crawford is dead, after all."

He twisted his lips into a bitter smile.

"Dead men don't talk."

 **Scene 3: Courtroom Ten**

The torches in the courtroom barely managed to reach the chair in its middle, their shine greedily swallowed by the black stone walls that made up the entirety of the dungeon. The flames fluttered in the breeze as the doors opened and two Dementors drifted in, behind them Igor Karkaroff.

Moody sat on the bench high above the floor, to the right of Crouch, looking down onto the chair where the chains on the arms suddenly glowed golden and snaked their way up Karkaroff's arms, binding him there. Everyone else on the serried rows of benches was staring at him as well. The courtroom was filled to the last seat. Today's agenda had drawn a crowd. They whispered and stared, the atmosphere expectant and full of anticipation.

Crouch rose, opening the hearing.

"Igor Karkaroff, you have been brought from Azkaban to present evidence to the Ministry of Magic. You have given us to understand that you have important information for us."

His voice was curt. Karkaroff straightened, as best he could, looking up the bench.

"I have, sir." His tongue darted out nervously, wetting his lips. "I wish to be of use to the Ministry. I wish to help. I – I know that the Ministry is trying to – to round up the last of the Dark Lords supporters. I am eager to assist in any way I can …"

More like eager to save your own skin, Moody thought. Around him, a murmur broke out that was way to appreciative for his tastes.

"Filth," he muttered, turning towards Dumbledore on his left. "Crouch is going to let him out. He's done a deal with him. Took me six months to track him down, and Crouch is going to let him go if he's got enough new names." He glared at the black-haired man below. "Let's hear his information, I say, and throw him straight back to the dementors."

He smiled sardonically as the old wizard made a dissenting noise.

"Ah, I was forgetting … you don't like the dementors, do you, Albus?"

Dumbledore didn't turn his head as he answered.

"No, I'm afraid I don't. I have long felt the Ministry is wrong to ally itself with such creatures."

"But for filth like this …"

Moody wanted to say more, but Crouch had reached the important part by now. The formalities were over, everything following the protocol to the letter. Crouch was as accurate as his moustache.

"You say you have names for us, Karkaroff. Let us hear them, please."

 _Please._ The way he treated the hearing, you wouldn't have thought that a Death Eater responsible for a few Muggle murders was sitting here. And it didn't get better.

"You must understand," Karkaroff said hurriedly, "that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named operated always in the greatest secrecy … He preferred that we – I mean to say, his supporters – and I regret now, very deeply, that I ever counted myself among them –"

What an utterly pathetic performance. "Get on with it," said Moody impatiently. Who wanted to hear this grovelling? Sadly, Karkaroff couldn't hear him.

"– we never knew the names of every one of our fellows – He alone knew exactly who we all were –"

"Which was a wise move, wasn't it, as it prevented someone like you, Karkaroff, from turning all of them in."

Moody glared at him.

Yes, that particular habit of the Dark Lord had given them more than one headache indeed. Karkaroff looked like he wanted to say more, but at last Crouch, too, seemed fed up with him. His voice held a trance of impatience.

"Yet you say you have some names for us?"

"I – I do," said Karkaroff breathlessly. "And these were important supporters, mark you. People I saw with my own eyes doing his bidding. I give this information as a sign that I fully and totally renounce him, and am filled with a remorse so deep I can barely –"

And there he went again, but now Crouch had enough. His voice cut Karkaroff off sharply.

"These names are?"

Karkaroff drew a deep breath. _Finally._

"There was Antonin Dolohov. I – I saw him torture countless Muggles and – and non-supporters of the Dark Lord."

"And helped him do it," Moody muttered. He'd tracked down both. Dolohov had been caught shortly after Karkaroff. Apparently, Crouch hadn't told Karkaroff that little detail. Instead, he was doing so now.

"We have already apprehended Dolohov. He was caught shortly after yourself."

"Indeed?" Karkaroff didn't look happy. "I – I am delighted to hear it!" And he didn't look delighted either.

"Any others?" Crouch said coldly.

Karkaroff pulled himself together in his chair and started to list other names, all of which were useless. Crouch indeed hadn't told him anything. He wanted him to sweat and it was working. Karkaroff was glancing to the door where his _escorts_ waited more and more often. It was also needed, because Moody thought it entirely possible that Karkaroff would stop talking, once he believed himself to be in the clear. You didn't give a Lucius Malfoy away if you could help it. Not if you wanted to enjoy your bought freedom.

They were noting down Rookwood's name, which had been a surprise, but not the one Moody was interested in. Rookwood was a glorified paper-pusher. Malfoy had tortured and killed. Crouch nodded down to the chair in the centre of the room.

"Very well, Karkaroff, if that is all, you will be returned to Azkaban while we decide –"

"Not yet!" cried Karkaroff, looking quite desperate. "Wait, I have more!"

 _And now it comes_ , Moody thought, straightening slightly to view the man in full and not miss a single movement he made. _We'll finally get that slimeball._ Karkaroff hesitated, his eyes darting around nervously. He was sweating, even in the quite cool air of the stone courtroom. He knew exactly what giving up that name was going cost him. He opened his mouth and –

"Snape!" he shouted. "Severus Snape!"

"What?"

"Snape has been cleared by this council –"

Crouch's annoyed voice cut through the spectacle Karkaroff was creating in the middle of the courtroom. Dumbledore rose, trying to bring order into the procedure again, but Crouch remained silent. No question regarding Malfoy, no move to push for the name. This morning, they had assured him Karkaroff would talk. Three hours ago, Karkaroff had confirmed to him personally that he would. What was happening here?

 **Act 2: White**

 **Scene 1: The Zealot**

 _A few days earlier …_

"Barty! I beg you, you must see reason!"

Artemis Macmillan and Bartemius Crouch were sitting in Crouch's office. Despite the latter's penchant for order and impeccable dressing (and he was, in clear white robes), the office looked like a bunch of pixies had swept through it. There simply hadn't been any time to spend on tidying up, and it drove Crouch up the walls, but the weeks since Halloween had seen him busier than he had ever been. Two entire desks were stacked with papers and folders. This meeting with the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation came with piss-poor timing.

Crouch slapped his hand onto the table, annoyed, squashing three different folders and an eagle quill.

"To hell with that! If you were half as dedicated as I am, you wouldn't even ask me to – to let a murderer run free, indeed! We had no problems with Dolohov, what's the problem with Karkaroff?"

"Dolohov didn't have the influence, Barty! Do you even listen to what I'm saying? I have the entire Eastern Confederation standing on my floomat! We are talking about a member of staff and shoe-in for the Headmaster at Durmstrang, here. Not some scruffy wannabe-Dark Wizard."

"My point exactly, Artemis. And that's the one you want to let out? What do you think that looks like to the people?"

"I have no idea what that looks like, I only do know what not letting him out looks like. They are serious. Deport him, ban him from Britain, do whatever you like. Just let him go. We have an international crisis on our hands otherwise."

Crouch smoothed the quill with hand and snorted disdainfully.

"I couldn't care less, Artemis. Have them declare war, for all I care. We'll show them where magic came from. The confederation? Bah, even Grindelwald steamrolled them –"

Macmillan recoiled, aghast.

"You're mad, Barty. You can't seriously mean that. We came to brink of collapse on Halloween, and now you –" He swallowed and shook his head. "Don't even joke about that. In any case, I'll take this to Minister Bagnold otherwise. Yes, it's that serious."

Crouch's fingers broke the quill in two. Angrily, he vanished the halves.

"Very well," he spat. "I know when I'm beaten. You won. I'll see what I can do. I think I have an idea."

His fingers drummed on the table.

"Keep this silent until you have him, will you? I need everyone in the dark for this to work."

Macmillan breathed a sigh of relief.

"Whatever you want, Barty. As long as I can tell the representatives we'll hand him over, I'll do anything. You don't know what was going in on in my office this last month."

He rose and nodded to the younger wizard.

"Thanks. I won't forget you this. If you ever decide you have enough from the Law Enforcement, tell me. There'll always be a spot for you in my department."

He said it jokingly, but Crouch's face remained stony. Artemis Macmillan shrugged and left the office. Crouch stared after him.

"One more reason to become Minister", he muttered. "If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself."

He turned in his chair, searching for the file of Karkaroff on the second desk, then gave it up as a lost cause.

"Higgins!"

The secretary, a young, sallow-looking wizard barely out of Hogwarts, poked his head around the doorframe.

"Yes, Mr. Crouch?"

"Prepare the documents for Karkaroff's deportation. I don't want to see his miserable face on this soil ever again. And schedule a hearing with the Wizengamot as soon as possible. If he wants out, he'll damn well spill." He paused, thinking. "And then tell Moody to get Malfoy's file ready."

Higgins, already back on the way to his desk, paused.

"You want to go after _Malfoy_?"

"We have the approval, do we not? What are the latest numbers?"

The young man nodded emphatically.

"Fifty-six percent approve of how you handle the Death Eater cases, or at least tacitly agree that your measures are working, even if they don't like it. Three percent wish you'd give them the Kiss right away. Thirty-two percent disagree with your aggressive way strongly. The rest couldn't say."

"Less than a third," muttered Crouch. "I can work with that. Well, I doubt Karkaroff knows anything of value. The trick will be getting him to tell us a few names we want to hear, in exchange for letting him go. I'll head to Azkaban straight away."

Crouch rose from his desk chair, grabbing his cloak from a stack of books. Higgins looked at him confusedly.

"I thought you had to let him go regardless?"

"Yes, but he doesn't know that, Higgins," Crouch snapped. "Use your brain, man. If it was up to me, none of this Dark Wizard scum would see the light of day ever again. I'd administer the Kiss personally if I could. But since I have to let him go, he can at least make himself useful that way. If I could get him to incriminate Lucius Malfoy …"

"You want him to give a false testimony? With due respect, sir, that is –"

"Nothing worse than what we did with Black." Crouch's eyes glittered, and his expression hardened. "They are all Dark Wizards, Higgins. The lot of them. They have tortured wizards and witches, they defiled the magic that was given to them to make them something special. The world is far, far better off without them."

He slipped into his cloak, and Higgins stepped in front of him, almost desperately wringing his hands.

"But Black was one thing. There was overwhelming evidence, and the sheer scale of destruction worked in our favour. Malfoy is a completely different case. Sir, you can't –"

"Which is why I need someone to incriminate him, don't I? That's what I just said. And inform the guards at Azkaban about my visit. _Accio hat_."

Higgins caught the hat from the hatstand, and kept standing in the doorway.

"Malfoy has been investigated for years. There ought to be enough in that case to get him anyway by now. Why do you –"

"There never _was_ a Malfoy case, Higgins," shouted Crouch. His fist slammed onto the table. "I saw what we had on him, and it's nothing. _Nothing._ Stuck behind their masks all damn day, one looking like the other, who would tell which is which? The file has a few instances of suspected activity that would require him to use a damn Time-Turner, to be in two places at the same time!"

He was breathing hard, but now his eyes stared at Higgins almost imploringly, as though it suddenly was the most important thing in the world that he was believed, by a boy barely half his age.

"But I _know_ Malfoy is a big name. I know he was with them through their worst, and he funded the Dark Lord's plans, I just can't prove it. But if somehow, I could …"

He trailed off, and Higgins nodded. "I know, sir. Your hat." He handed him the fedora.

Crouch's expression became determined, and he marched out of the door.

"We need someone testifying against him. And I'm going to find someone that does."

 **Scene 2: Gettin' Them In**

"How are you feeling, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Crouch took in the appearance of the witch across from him. Twenty-something, somewhat simple, and with looks that made it clear why Malfoy had married her, but not looking her very best currently. Apparently, Malfoy had gone completely mad and attacked his own wife earlier this morning. For that, she was surprisingly composed. Pale and shaken, sure, but not crying her eyes out or looking on the verge of a breakdown. Then again, perhaps she'd been there already. Her long blonde hair was a dishevelled, and she had cried recently. Her fingers played nervously with the clasp of her handbag.

"I'm not sure – I … I think I'm still – I mean, I can't believe –"

"I completely understand, Mrs. Malfoy. Would it still be possible to tell us exactly what happened?"

She hesitated, then nodded. Crouch made a small gesture to Higgins, and set up the self-writing quill. Mrs. Malfoy didn't appear to notice.

"We had just finished breakfast – I mean, I know it was quite late in the morning, but we had been out the evening before, and slept in. That was the reason." She stopped and frowned. "I had fresh fruits, pineapples, to be exact, I love pineapples. Lucius had ham and eggs."

"Mrs. Malfoy," said Crouch patiently. "Would it also be possible that you skipped those details and only told us the important facts?"

She looked at him with big blue eyes.

"Isn't that important? I mean, I don't know what is, of course. But I could start with the first spell he cast?"

"We would be much obliged."

"Well, as I said, right after breakfast, when I had risen and turned my back to him to check on the House-Elves in the kitchens, he suddenly cast a Killing Curse at me. That _is_ important, right?"

"Very much so."

The quill in front of the secretary was scribbling away furiously.

"And what did you do?"

"Well, to be honest, nothing. You must understand, Mr. Crouch, I was so horribly confused right then, and I noticed only afterwards that it had been the Killing Curse. What was more horrifying to me was what happened afterwards, anyway."

She shivered.

"He screamed like – like a ghoul or something, it was an awful sound. I never want to hear something like that again. It went through and through, Mr. Crouch. I bet you have never heard a sound like that, and if you haven't, you can't imagine what it was like. Then he grabbed his head and staggered around, as if he were drunk, but he wasn't – I know he wasn't, because I don't like drunk men. But he appeared just so, and started flinging around spells, hitting me before I even got my wand out, and I was black and blue because it were bludgeoning curses, and then he – he –"

She broke off, and now the tears came.

"He used the Cruciatus Curse. I tried to call the Ministry, someone, anyone, but it _hurt_ , it hurt so much, and he used a flame whip to pull me towards him, and by then, I had lost my wand, and there were spells everywhere and there was just nothing I could _do_."

Sobs racked her body.

"If the Aurors hadn't arrived, I don't know what would have happened. I haven't ever seen him like this. He was so mad. Like a wizard possessed."

Crouch drew up a glass of calming draught, which he pushed over to her, looking at her consolingly. She took a sip and gave him a watery smile in thanks.

"I'm sorry. You must think I'm awfully dumb. To lose my wand like that. And weak, to just cry like this."

"I assure you, Mrs. Malfoy, we think neither. Is it alright to go on?"

She pulled out her wand and conjured a silver handkerchief, dabbing her eyes.

"Yes, of course. It's just the shock. Though there isn't much more to tell. Your Aurors arrived, saw what was going on and stunned him."

"We have their accounts, Higgins?"

"They arrived to find Malfoy throwing around spells at the walls like a madman and her injured and crying next to the fireplace, yes. It fits."

"Well, Mrs. Malfoy, in that case I only have to ask if you are aware of what your husband is accused – being a Death Eater?"

She looked uncomfortable.

"Yes, I was told. They asked me about it as well. I can only tell you what I told that nice Auror, Ian or something – Lucius never spoke about it with me. I suspected nothing until you told me. He was gone, every now and then, sure, but that's not enough to accuse him, is it? I'd like if he was, because he did wrong and he tried to _kill_ me and I can't bear the thought of what else he might have done, but …"

"That alone isn't, but don't worry, Mrs. Malfoy, we have enough, especially with your statement. You don't even have to repeat it in front of the Wizengamot, it will be enough if you confirm their question whether this written account they will be given is yours indeed."

She looked up to him, nodding, and he smiled at her reassuringly.

"Of course, sir. Anything you say." Then she hesitated. "And there is no chance I might have to see him again?"

Crouch smiled at the witch in front of him.

"None whatsoever, Mrs. Malfoy. Even if we wouldn't have your testimony, we have another one. This case is watertight. You don't have to see him ever again. There's nothing more to fear."

Mrs. Malfoy froze, then breathed a sigh of relief.

"I hadn't thought of that. I mean, he might try to get revenge if I testify against him, mightn't he? But if he is shut away in prison for life, that's good. I'll be out of his reach."

Crouch nodded.

"As you say. Just three more hours, and everything is over." He rose, walking around the table, offering his hand to the witch to help her up.

"I can't tell you how much I admire your courage, Mrs. Malfoy. It takes much to testify against your own husband, you are everything _but_ weak. It will be very valuable to our case. Thank you."

She shook her head, smiling.

"Oh no, Mr. Crouch. I should be thanking you. You were the one who got him there. I will never forget that."

Mrs. Malfoy gathered her bag, and with a small smile into their directions, left the office.

Crouch stroke his accurately trimmed moustache.

"If every witch was as cooperative as her, our lives would be a whole lot easier, Higgins."

His words went unheard by the young secretary, who still stared at the door through which Mrs. Malfoy had just left.

"What a witch."

Crouch turned to leave the office.

"I'll check up on Karkaroff again. Not that he gets cold feet at the last minute. Then we have the court session, and after Malfoy is convicted, I have a few appointments with potential backers for my bid for the Minister – Higgins? Higgins!"

The secretary jerked around.

"Uh, what, sir?"

Crouch made a growling noise.

"Pull yourself together. And try to get a little more tidiness into this mess. Looks like a Muggle-pigsty. Disgusting."

 **Scene 3: Courtroom Ten**

"Not yet!" cried Karkaroff, looking quite desperate. "Wait, I have more!"

Crouch watched the man sitting below him with anticipation. He had kept Malfoy's name for last, just as agreed upon. Clearly, he was uncomfortable, but if he wanted out, he would talk. Karkaroff looked around nervously, glancing at the door behind which the Dementors stood. Oh yes, he would talk.

"Snape! Severus Snape!"

Karkaroff's voice rang from the stone walls. The parchment with his notes slipped from his grasp. Crouch stared at the man below with befuddlement and anger. What was going on?

"Snape has been cleared by this council." He stared at Karkaroff angrily. Why hadn't he said Malfoy's name? "He has been vouched for by Albus Dumbledore."

"No," shouted Karkaroff. "I assure you! Severus Snape is a Death Eater!"

He was desperate to save his skin. But then why not Malfoy's name? Something was going horribly wrong. Dumbledore had gotten to his feet a few seats down the bench, saying what everyone knew already.

"I have given evidence already on this matter – Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am."

Crouch didn't dare push for Malfoy's name. Something had happened of which he had no idea. There was an actual risk that Karkaroff might _deny_ Malfoy's involvement, and that was the last thing he needed. There still was his wife's testimony, anyway. It would suffice.

"Very well, Karkaroff." His voice was decidedly cold. "You have been of assistance. I shall review your case. You will return to Azkaban in the meantime."

He nodded to the Aurors, and the chair unwrapped the chains from his arms, allowing him to rise. They escorted him out of the room, back into his cell. Crouch read the next item on the list.

"Lucius Malfoy, accused of being a Death Eater." He turned to the jury, looking confident. "I think we can make this quick. The jury has studied the evidence I provided last week, and the account of the witness from today's happening you now have before you. Are there any questions?"

Old Araminta Bagshot rose.

"This testimony we have will be confirmed by the witness?"

One more confirmation, and it would be over. He'd call in Malfoy, and the jury would pass their verdict on him.

"Yes – except –"

"Except what, my dear?"

The old witch looked at her kindly, while Crouch slowly turned his head to watch Mrs. Malfoy. What was the girl playing at?

"As far as what he did to me goes, I heard there was a very similar incident this morning in the Ministry, and it turned out to be because of Dark Magic You-Know-Who had used to control – Undersecretary Crawford, I think it was. There isn't a chance this might be the reason here also?"

Her words were hesitant, but audible in every corner of the courtroom. He stared at her and everything seemed to come to a halt, as their meaning registered in his brain.

 **Act 3: Black**

 **Scene 1: The Plan**

 _A few days earlier …_

Lucius Malfoy rose from the fireplace in the old manor in Wiltshire. The green fire in the white marble chimney died down to a dim glow; not enough to illume the vast entrance hall that rested in an autumn eve's darkness. Steps sounded on the broad flight of stairs that led down from the upper reaches of the building in a large, elegant curve.

"They are coming."

Lucius looked agitated and paler than usual. His wife had reached the hallway, walking over the magnificent Axminster carpet that covered the stone floor. She was a beautiful, strong-willed witch, just twenty-five, a year younger than her husband. They had a son. It was the perfect marriage.

"When?"

"In three days."

"Enough time to prepare, then."

Her voice was matter-of-fact and unconcerned. He sighed.

"I'm not going to run away or hide, Narcissa. If they take me, I will go."

She stopped walking, and turned her head towards him. Her lovely face, framed by the long blonde hair, was shadowy in the twilight. They stood facing each other, unable to tell more than outlines of each other, but even so, her blue eyes stared icily at him through the darkness between them.

"What?"

Her voice was carefully controlled.

"I will go, Cissy. I'm not about to shame myself by hiding in some hovel like a common crook."

Her hand brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"So I didn't mishear. You know, Lucius, I knew you had occasional moments of stupidity – every wizard has them – but this is quite too much."

For some reason, her dismissal seemed to hit him.

"What would you know," he flared up. "Do you think this is easy? At least your sister –"

"Is mad, yes. Going to prison out of loyalty? I wonder how she ever ended up in Slytherin. A wonderful example to cite, Lucius. Did you ever even think about how that would affect me and Draco?" She stared at him. "No, of course you didn't. You just decided to get convicted of murder and who knows what else out of the blue. I'm not going to stand for that."

Lucius looked at her rigid posture. She stood upright and tense in the darkness, ready for every fight in the world. "Are you telling me what to do?" he asked softly.

She scoffed at him.

"Obviously I am. Let me make something very clear. If you end up in Azkaban, don't expect me to be here when you return."

He stared at her.

"You – would –"

"Yes, I would Lucius. I did not marry to become the wife of an uninfluential, failed criminal, sitting in a dump of a cell, eating his meals with rats. I was promised the world, and I'm going to get it. If you walk with your head held high into prison, I will walk with my head held high out of this house. I am young, I am beautiful, I will make my way. With or without you."

Her voice was hard and unyielding.

"Cissy -"

She shook her head slowly.

"I don't want to hear it, Lucius. It's that simple. If you decide you need to – to prove some stupid, nonexistent point, you are unworthy of me. Merlin, I can't believe you would even consider it. Where in the name of Avalon has your sense of self-preservation and opportunity gone? The Dark Lord is dead, Lucius. Gone. Wake up! No one will appreciate your silly little gesture, no one. The world has changed overnight. It will be like a giant wave that clears the board, carrying away those that are too slow, but allowing others to ride its crest to the top. I planned to use this. And I will personally kill you, should you drag me into the former category with you."

"So that is all this ever was for you?" he said bitterly. "An opportunity to rise to the top? I thought it was more than that. It was for me."

She sighed and her posture lost a little of its rigidity.

"I do like you, Lucius. Make no mistake there. But you have to make up your mind. Me or a dumpy prison." She took a few steps towards him, close enough to make out their faces, and glanced at him. "And should you take any more time to consider _that_ choice, I will take it as a personal insult."

She said it in the same cold tone, but she was smiling. He took her head into his hands and kissed her. She threw her arms around him and dragged him down onto a small sofa on the wall, ending up on his lap, looking at him.

"No one says you have to either run or hide. You will be accused …" – her finger traced his cheek – "You will have a trial …" – across his chest – "And you will walk free, amidst standing ovations." She kissed him and whispered in his ear. "That, Lucius, is what will happen. And if you only let me, I will make sure it does."

He shook his head, sighing.

"You are right, darling. I don't know what I was thinking."

He pulled her towards him, and she comfortably leant into his embrace.

"Of course I am."

Idly, she played with his fingers in her hand. After a while, she drew her wand and lit a few candles with a wave, bathing the hall in a soft light.

"Come. Let us think about what needs to be done now."

Lucius rose, and stepped to the window, staring into the darkness. Outside, gusts of wind were ripping the last of the leaves from the trees.

"We need to know who could indict you. Who knows you were a Death Eater?"

He shrugged.

"Your sister and her husband, for one. All of the Lestranges, in fact."

"They won't talk."

Her turned around. "Are you –"

"I know my own sister, Lucius. And her husband and his brother are the same. No, we have nothing to fear from them. Who else?"

"Rosier, but he is dead." Lucius tapped his fingers on the sill. "I can think of only two that could make us problems. Henry Crawford – as far as I am aware, no one has accused him so far, and if he is, he might spill. And Karkaroff. He's a snivelling coward, but he already is in Azkaban, luckily."

"Undersecretary Crawford?" Narcissa stared at his husband. "He was a Death Eater?"

Lucius looked at her impatiently. "I told you we had a top-ranking man in the Ministry –"

"You told me lots of things, Lucius, and I told you I don't care and I don't want to know. That hasn't changed, as long as it doesn't directly concern you, and thus, me." She paused and considered what he had said. "Well, this is lucky. Only two people left to deal with. That is feasible. I wonder if –"

"Perhaps we could use Crawford's position to deflect the accusation altogether." Lucius looked at her. "Possible?"

Narcissa shook he head

"Too risky. If he did, he'd have something to blackmail us for all eternity. And Crouch is running around the Ministry more or less unchallenged these days. He's got carte blanche from Minister Bagnold herself, so there's not even telling if Crawford would be successful. No, I'm thinking he has to be removed." She bit her lower lip, thinking. "Yes, there is no other way. And as for the accusations … claim you were under the influence of some curses, perhaps the Imperius Curse. And just now, you're starting to come to your senses again."

"Weeks after his fall?

"It's plausible enough, Lucius. It doesn't have to sound good, you only have to convince the Wizengamot with it. What we need … why, yes, I think I found a use for Crawford. No one is as of yet aware that he was a Death Eater, you said?"

She was talking quicker now, having an idea into which direction they would need to go.

"No."

"Then here's what we will do …"

Lucius caught on halfway through and smirked at her.

"Cissy, you are brilliant."

She offered him a slight smile.

"I know, but thanks for telling me. A girl likes to hear that every now and then."

She twirled the ring on her finger thoughtfully.

"The crucial thing will be timing. You are certain of the tip you got from the Ministry, of course."

Lucius inclined his head.

"Fudge can't stand Crouch. And as he's not even in the same Department, they won't find out there's a leak. He's quite appalled at the way Crouch handles many of our most notable families, by the way. He can yet become very useful – he's not at all happy with his current post."

She nodded.

"A possibility, but that's for later. What we need now is a way to get Crawford to behave like we want. I'm no good with the Imperius Curse, and it's too risky, anyway, if they don't kill him, after all. How –"

She stopped and broke out into a smile.

"Oh, I think I just got an idea."

Three days remained, and she used the time to smooth the last wrinkles out of the plan. Lucius needed to appear to have attacked her, in front of witnesses. Uncomfortable, but the most effective way to display madness that she could think of.

It would have the added advantage that she could have an emotional, public reunion in front of everyone who mattered, where she was seen magnanimously forgiving her husband, but she didn't tell him that. He knew what he needed to know. If he was as good as he should be, he would figure that angle out on his own anyway. It would give her a perfect standing among the older witches who were concerned with all those stuffy values her mother had try to instill in her, a better one than anything she could have done on her own, but that was more than fair considering the risks she took for him.

 _Like smuggling an unregistered wand into the Ministry to murder the Undersecretary_ , she thought as she crept along the corridor to the office of Crawford. A nervous glance to the corner, behind which the Aurors guarded the Minister, a deep breath, and then she knocked at the door.

A curt voice bade her to enter. She opened the door, and Crawford looked up from his work. Grumpy at first, then with dawning recognition.

"Oh, Narcissa, isn't it? Lucius' wife. Yes, I remember." He rose to shake her hand. "Well, what can I do for you? I'm somewhat busy, I'm afraid –"

"You can get out of the way of my future."

She closed the door behind her, drawing the wand from her robes. Crawford's look was one of utter confusion.

"What?"

"Avada Kedavra," she said coldly. The green light rushed towards him, and he died silently, still looking at her with questioning eyes, never understanding what just happened.

Now came the uncomfortable part. She pulled out a glass vial with a little quantum of an almost finished potion, placing it onto the table. It was missing just one ingredient, and she had to get that from Crawford.

The fact that she was good a potions – great, even, she corrected mentally – didn't change the fact that she hated the part of it where you had to clutch slippery, wobbling dragon livers or squeeze out still twitching beetles and caterpillars or _get your clothes dirty by a blood fountain after cutting off a sodding finger_.

She stared down angrily at the dead man, and then realised for the first time that it was _her_ who had just killed him and swallowed. She turned away, trying to stifle the shaking of her hands, feeling horrified and annoyed at the same time; annoyed, because she was stronger than this. He had been a Death Eater, who had killed who knows who many. _And_ he had stood in her way.

Resolutely, she turned back around, cleansing herself, ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach as much as possible. She put the body in place. Then she took a deep breath and dumped the blood she'd collected from his finger into the potion and fed it to Crawford, who was now lying on the carpet in front of his desk. The cut-off finger blackened instantly, the only thing that would able to undo the magic she was going to invoke.

She started to cast an array of spells around him, to finish reanimating the corpse. She didn't want a full-fledged Inferius, merely a temporary one. And he needed to be able to cast spells. It would only work for a few minutes before his magic had dwindled away, but it'd be enough for her purposes, and no one would be able to tell he had been died five minutes before this. That was the most important thing. She glanced at the clock. _Now_.

As soon as she'd cast the spell, and Crawford twitched, she used personal Apparition point in the office to escape home, where she was greeted by a hail of spellfire, exactly as planned.

 **Scene 2: The Fixed Fix**

Narcissa sighed mentally. She loved acting, but she hated playing the helpless, naïve blonde airhead. If there was one thing she despised, it was being a damsel in distress. There was, however, no way around it, and so far, everything worked out like expected. Crouch was even _smiling_ at her, for Merlin's sake.

"And there is no chance I might have to see him again?"

She looked at him with big blue eyes, still shimmering slightly from her grand crying fit earlier.

"None whatsoever, Mrs. Malfoy. Even if we wouldn't have your testimony, we have another one. This case is watertight. You don't have to see him ever again. There's nothing more to fear."

She froze. For an instant, panic seized hold of her at that new development and she nearly gave everything away. Crouch was already looking at her questioningly, as she exhaled and uttered an ostentatious sigh.

"I hadn't thought of that. I mean, he might try to get revenge if I testify against him, mightn't he? But if he is shut away in prison for life, that's good. I'll be out of his reach."

Too close. Far too close. She'd barely saved this. Another account hadn't been part of the plan. She was thinking furiously, trying to come up with ways out of this mess. There had to be one. At least Crouch had swallowed the explanation. He looked at her with understanding and nodded.

"As you say. Just three more hours, and everything is over." He rose, and walked around the table, offering her his hand to help her up, which she took daintily.

"I can't tell you how much I admire your courage, Mrs. Malfoy. It takes much to testify against your own husband, you are everything _but_ weak. It will be very valuable to our case. Thank you."

She had to pull herself together to not slip out of her role again, forcing herself to smile and shake her head.

"Oh no, Mr. Crouch. I should be thanking you." _For telling me what your plan is._ "You were the one who got him there. I will _never_ forget that." Her eyes narrowed for the shortest of moments, but neither man noticed. The secretary still stared at her in the same stupidly lovestruck way he had during the entirety of the conversation. She gathered her bag, taking a look back over her shoulder with a small smile that would have been shark-like, if she had had anything to say about it.

 _You will get yours, Crouch. And if it's the last thing I'll do. No one messes with me and gets away with it._

She didn't walk further than around the next corner, before she applied a disillusionment charm on herself, grimacing at the horrible cold and wet feeling, and returned to the office. Voices drifted over, as she crept closer.

"… check up on Karkaroff again. Not that he gets cold feet at the last minute. Then we have the court session, and after Malfoy is convicted, I have a few appointments with potential backers for my bid for the Minister …"

She retreated again, as it sounded like Crouch was getting ready to leave his office, pondering this. So it was Karkaroff, after all. And Crouch wanted to run for the Minister's office, but that was information for later. Right now, she had three hours left to fix this.

She returned home, went back to the Ministry, and finally, with half an hour left, had found out everything she wanted. Karkaroff was already in a cell in Level Ten, where the courtrooms were.

When she exited the lift, she just caught sight of Crouch's white robes, vanishing in the lift next to hers. She walked down the flight of stairs he undoubtedly had just come up, walking down the bare stone corridor that was sparsely illumed by torches on the walls. In front of one of the bolted doors, she stopped and knocked.

A flap in the middle of the door opened. An Auror peered out.

"Yes?"

She looked at him nervously, wringing her hands.

"The – the prisoners are here, yes?"

He was young, younger than herself. He had to be barely out of his training.

"Er – yes … that is to say, no … no one is … ah, what the hell." He fiddled with his uniform. "Yes, they are here, but I'm afraid, I can't allow you –"

She was at the door with a few quick steps. He started. "Mrs. Malfoy! I hadn't seen – but still, no one is allowed –"

She clung to the opening like a drowning man to a plank.

"Oh please! I just want to see my husband before he gets …" She swallowed and looked away. "Can't you make just a tiny exception? I just – I don't know if I will see him a-again …"

The Auror looked at her for a few seconds, then he sighed. Bolts were snapped aside, and the door opened.

"Make it quick," he said. She flashed him a grateful smile, and walked down the corridor. One corner in, she stopped. Her posture changed, from the slightly slumped, downbeat appearance to a straight and upright gait, displaying an imperious demeanour.

A small smile slipped over his face, before she adapted a cold expression. This would be far better than the talk with Crouch. The intimidating role was one she liked. With quick, purposeful strides, she hurried down the corridor, her steps echoing sharply from the stone walls. She didn't pass Lucius' cell on the way, so he had to be incarcerated further down.

Karkaroff looked up as the steps paused in front of his cell, and froze as he saw who was standing there. Someone already had a bad conscience. Convenient.

"Did you have a good talk with Crouch, Karkaroff?" she asked sweetly.

He opened his mouth to say something, but she whipped out her wand quickly and silenced him.

"Stop talking," she hissed. "Do you think I really want to hear your snivelling voice? I know exactly why he was here."

Karkaroff looked on the verge of panicking. She smiled at him coldly.

"I see you know what this means." She leant forward. "Karkaroff. I want you to think about what you'll do very carefully. You want to get out of this cell. This cell, which currently keeps me _out_."

She suddenly fired a curse through the bars, and the magic of the cell flared up, swallowing it before it reached Karkaroff. He made a choking noise and scrambled backwards, falling down.

"It keeps me out," she repeated. "Did you hear the Aurors talking about what happened to Crawford this morning? Yes? Then take a look at this."

She pulled out the blackened finger, and flipped it into the cell.

"Something you want to say? Finite Incantatem."

He was staring at the finger on the ground in dawning horror.

"You – you turned him into an –"

She regarded him with an icy look.

"Yes, I did. And Crawford wasn't even talking, as opposed to you. Where will you go, once you're out, to get away from me? Will you run, will you hide? Because I will follow you, Karkaroff. I will track you down. And what happened to Crawford will look like a merciful death."

He was looking at her with a mixture of revulsion and fear. "You turned him into an Inferius, you crazy bitch –"

"No, that's my sister. I'm a very reasonable witch, Karkaroff, _unless_ someone or something stands in the way of something I want. I'm not having someone as pathetic as you ruin my future. If you buy your freedom with that of my husband, you won't be able to enjoy it. I will make sure of that."

She looked at the black finger lying in the cell, then smiled thinly at him.

"Keep it. Maybe it will help you make up your mind. Mention any name you like, just not Lucius'. That isn't much to ask."

At her back, steps sounded down the corridor. She spun around and without another glance at Karkaroff, walked further down the row of cells. Lucius was sitting on his cot. He merely looked at her questioningly, and she nodded at him shortly. Then the guard had reached them.

"You should go, Mrs. Malfoy. The trials will be starting in a few minutes, and you want to be there. Do you know the way?"

She smiled at the Auror.

"That will be alright. I have been there before. Thank you very much for your help indeed."

She turned around and walked back the way she had come. Her stage was now the courtroom.

 **Scene 3: Courtroom Ten**

"Not yet!" cried Karkaroff, looking quite desperate. "Wait, I have more!"

Narcissa leaned forwards, her hands nervously clenching around the bar of the wooden bench directly at level with the courtroom floor, reserved for the witnesses. Karkaroff was sweating and obviously uncomfortable. But had it been enough?

He darted looks around, and when he glanced into her direction, she gave him her coldest glare. He swallowed and looked away, up to Crouch. "Snape!" he shouted. "Severus Snape!"

Narcissa felt the tension leave her body. It had worked out. She leant back and enjoyed herself with watching the court getting bogged down over arguments of whether Snape was a Death Eater or not. Finally, Crouch had enough.

"Very well, Karkaroff." His voice was decidedly cold, clearly unhappy that he hadn't gotten what he wanted. "You have been of assistance. I shall review your case. You will return to Azkaban in the meantime."

She wondered why he didn't press the point. Probably because he feared the negative answer, after his previous plan had failed so completely. That would sink the case at once. Better no comment from Karkaroff at all than a possible denial of Lucius' involvement.

Karkaroff was led out of the courtroom, and Crouch looked at his list.

"Lucius Malfoy, accused of being a Death Eater." He paused and turned to the jury on the right side of the dungeon. "I think we can make this quick. The jury has studied the evidence I provided last week, and the account of the witness from today's happening you now have before you. Are there any questions?"

So he wanted to railroad the case. Well, thought Narcissa, that wouldn't happen. Crouch was in for a surprise.

One of the jury responded.

"This testimony we have will be confirmed by the witness?"

She rose, looking at the jury nervously, and really feeling excited. It was time for her show.

"Yes – except –"

The old witch looked at her kindly.

"Except what, my dear?"

Narcissa fidgeted about and looked down.

"As far as what he did to me goes, I heard there was a very similar incident this morning in the Ministry, and it turned out to be because of Dark Magic You-Know-Who had used to control – Undersecretary Crawford, I think it was. There isn't a chance this might be the reason here also?"

The witch frowned.

"Is this true, Barty? This bears similarities to what happened to Crawford?"

Narcissa glanced up to him, and registered a blank look on his face. He hadn't known yet! Oh, this worked far better than she could have hoped.

"I don't know anything of the sort –"

He stopped himself, but the damage was done. Most members of the jury wore looks of disapproval. Everyone knew what had happened, but he didn't. Moody, the Auror, chewed out a curse. He rose from his place a few seats to Crouch's right.

"Crawford went mad, yes. At roughly the same time Malfoy did, and in a very similar way. It appears there were curses that affected him; however, no one could tell exactly what, considering –"

Crouch cleared his throat.

"Perhaps we should adjourn this session and postpone the verdict to a later date, in light of this new development."

Oh no, you don't, Narcissa thought. This was far too perfect. She dropped her tentative demeanour a little and said: "Is that really necessary? The charges brought against him haven't changed. Deciding whether he was under the influence of Dark Magic is just another facet of deciding whether he is guilty or not. And all the necessary people are present. Auror Moody, to the best of your knowledge, was Undersecretary Crawford not himself, and did my husband exhibit the same signs? If he might be innocent of the crimes he committed, I need to know."

Crouch stared at her. She saw the exact moment when he realised that she was not what she had appeared to be and was playing her own game. His face went white in anger. She brushed back her blonde hair and smiled up at him. He pressed his lips together and glanced over to the jury, whose majority was nodding at Moody's words, while he described in much detail Crawford's behaviour and Lucius', which bore startlingly similar marks.

"And you are quite certain Crawford was influenced by Dark Magic?"

Moody looked like he wished the jury wizard who asked this into a deep, dark Gringotts vault. "According to the Healer's report, yes. He also was completely incoherent. Half the Auror department heard him scream like a madman."

Crouch didn't look happier. He knew exactly that the case was slipping out from under his grasp and did a last attempt to save it. It was working out exactly she hoped it would – instead of convincing the jury of Lucius's guilt, all she had to do was to convince them he had been behaving just like Crawford.

"We don't even know yet if that is what Malfoy will say!"

The wizard shrugged.

"So ask him."

Crouch looked furious. "Bring him in!" he barked.

The witch from the jury looked at Narcissa.

"Do you have anything else to say, dear?"

"Only," she said, smiling, "that in the light of these revelations, I forgive him. I am now certain that he never meant to hurt me. He wasn't himself, and he is my husband. So I forgive him."

The witch looked at her respectfully.

"Quite admirable."

Somewhere in the stands, people started to clap. She soaked in the cheers, the shouts, the encouragement, smiling and nodding in thanks. The doors opened, and Lucius arrived, and she sat back down on the bench, amidst applause. The atmosphere had completely changed. The tension had gone. Lucius took a seat in the chained chair modestly, looking up to Crouch, whose face was a mask of stone.

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, you have been brought before this council to answer to charges of being Death Eater and all criminal activity that entails as defined by the Emergency Bills from 1978. What do you have to say?"

Lucius looked at him, then at the jury, earnestly.

"That I must have been influenced by the magic of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. My recollection of some days is sporadic, I can barely remember them. I regret deeply that I was not strong enough to withstand His magic, but some would say that is impossible for everyone but the honoured Headmaster." He nodded up to Dumbledore. "I regret what must have happened, and especially what I was told I did today to my wife, but it was not me. I don't even remember. What more can I say?"

Crouch's fist had clenched around his armrest hard enough that she swore she could hear the wood creak. He looked like he wondered if those last minutes were a dream. He had lost and he knew it.

"I will put it to the vote," he spat. "Those who believe in his guilt will raise their hands –"

Narcissa looked up to the jury. A few, select arms, not nearly half of the jury. She jumped up, flying into his arms, kissing him. Again, a wave of applause, drowning out Crouch's final words.

"Cleared of all charges."

People started to rise, leave; there was nothing more scheduled for today. Many flocked to her, talking to her, congratulating.

"It's Araminta Bagshot, my dear. We have tea every Wednesday evening. You simply _must_ look in one of these days, and tell your story."

Out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted Crouch leaving. Her eyes narrowed for an instant. He would get his too.

Narcissa smiled at the witch in front of her.

"I would be delighted. Let me introduce my husband …"

 **.:!:.**

 _Postludium: A month later …_

Narcissa took a seat next to her husband, in the stands of the courtroom, this time, among the many other spectators. It was packed, but utterly silent. There was an atmosphere like moments before a thunderstorm, tense, nervous and ready to explode.

Crouch's voice broke the silence. Just three words, but they sounded like thunder.

"Bring them in."

The doors opened slowly, creaking in their hinges, spewing out first six dementors, than a group of four people. One witch, three wizards. Narcissa stared at her, sitting in the middle of the courtroom. If nothing else, she had retained her bearing, proud and sure of her place, of what the world owed her because of who she was. The chair was her throne and she the centre of the universe, like it always had been for the Black sisters. Only that no one would have imagined it would be the case in _here_.

One mad and one a disgrace. She shook her head softly. It seemed like it would fall to the youngest to honour the family.

"Your sister will be going to prison," Lucius said quietly next to her.

She wrest herself free from the memories, turning to her husband.

"And did me a last favour along the way. She was the one who told me Crouch's son had shown interest in their group, days before the Dark Lord fell. I regret it for the girl I knew, but that's her no longer. She's a fool for what she did, and once upon a time, she would have known that." Narcissa shook her head again. "You weren't there, Lucius. When she … you didn't see her. She's completely mad. There's nothing I can do for her. It had to end this way."

Across the room, Crouch rose.

"You have been brought here before the Council of Magical Law," he said clearly, "so that we may pass judgement on you, for a crime so heinous –"

"Father," said the youngest of the four, a mere boy. "Father … please …"

 _The moon had hidden behind dark night clouds, which had slowly drifted up from Hogwarts. The side alley in Hogsmeade was silent and deserted. Suddenly, someone appeared, without making a sound. He threw something away, then leant against a wall, clearly waiting for someone._

 _Time passed. He made an annoyed gesture, and started to walk towards the pub, whose yellow windows shone out into the night. He hadn't yet covered more than a few yards, when two cracking sounds disturbed the night. He spun around, wand out, but he was too slow. Two red spells hit him in the chest, and he slumped down._

 _His attackers talked quietly. Their hooded appearance hid identity and even gender, until one pushed back the hood, shaking free a shock of long blonde hair._

" _I will go. Bring him along."_

 _Her voice was final. She pulled something from her cloak, and drank it. Moments later, she looked exactly like the man on the ground._

"– that we have rarely heard the like of it within this court. We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror – Frank Longbottom – and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named –"

"Father, I didn't!" shrieked the boy in chains below. "I didn't, I swear it. Father, don't send me back to the dementors –"

 _She took a critical glance at herself, but there was no mark to disturb her guise that she could see. It was dark, in any case. It would suffice. She nodded at her companion, and walked briskly out of the alley and down the High Road. Her destination was a small house at the end of the village._

 _Her sister was already waiting, together with her husband and his brother._

" _There you are, Barty. Thought you'd gotten cold feet." Her violet eyes glittered in the night, and she shivered at the fanatical gleam. Completely mad._

" _Let's knock."_

 _Bellatrix blasted the door off its hinges._

" _Longbotty, are you theeeeere?"_

"You are further accused," bellowed Crouch, "of using the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom's wife, when he would not give you information. You planned to restore He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to power, and to resume the lives of violence you presumably led while he was strong. I now ask the jury –"

"Mother!" screamed the boy below, and a wispy little witch sitting beside Crouch began to sob, rocking backward and forward. "Mother, stop him. Mother, I didn't do it, _it wasn't me_!"

 _She tried to keep her turns with the Cruciatus Curse to a minimum. She wasn't very good at it, just like with the Imperius Curse, and torturing the woman was not her idea of fun. She hoped they wouldn't realise her lacklustre performance was also due to a lack of enthusiasm and not only a lack of skill._

" _Pathetic, Barty," Bellatrix said, pushing her away. Her curse hit the woman in the chest, who screamed and trashed around._

" _Where did the Dark Lord go?" she shrieked._

"No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there, don't let him –"

 _She heard the Aurors arriving._

 _She made a panicked sound, and started to run, leaving the house through the back door. The stunned body of her doppelganger was already there. She hid in the bushes to the left and watched the Aurors storming into the house. Spells flashed through the night. Inside the house, her sister was putting up a fight, laughing manically, but slowly getting backed into a corner._

 _She was the last one still fighting, but now all of the Aurors converged on her, and that was too much for anyone. She shook her head, disgusted. Once upon a time, she would have realised that and escaped. Now, she was overwhelmed._

 _One Auror reported to his superior._

" _Got them all, sir! There were four. The Lestranges, and – bloody hell! Is that Barty's son? He's a Death Eater?"_

" _I saw him use the curse through the kitchen window, sir," said another._

And Narcissa watched with a vicious smile as Crouch denounced his own son amidst the jeering crowd, raging like the madman he was. This stain would stick, she'd make sure of that. His hope of becoming the next Minister was over. Once the people saw what he truly was like, they would turn from him.

They would need another candidate. She wondered if she could get Lucius to bring Fudge into the game. Maybe he could keep the position of the Undersecretary until the elections. Currently, he was only temporarily appointed, but that wizard had the talent to cling to posts. He'd persevere. And the office of a Senior Undersecretary was the best starting point for a bid for the Minister one could hope to have. Fudge would not forget who had gotten him there.

She leant back and watched as the Dementors took them away, as Crouch himself rose and left the courtroom, being stayed clear of by almost everyone. A new order was emerging. And, she thought, she quite liked the view of it.

* * *

 _ **Comments are appreciated!**_


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